


wishing for you

by sunborn



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (mild), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, accidental background changjin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunborn/pseuds/sunborn
Summary: anyway, the moral of the story is— don't go outside and don't go on dates, kids. the hotter the person, the higher the chance they're crazy (?). hyunjin and changbin are actually really good friends. when someone says they'll'see you', make them clarify if they mean it in the creepy serial killer way (!).
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74
Collections: MINSUNG FICATHON: Round One; 2020





	wishing for you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [MINSUNG FICATHON](http://twitter.com/minsungficathon), for PROMPT **P088**
> 
> "Person A finds a magical artefact in which Person B sleeps; once awakened, he won't go away without granting three wishes"

  


  


  


  


jisung is pretty, relatively, fairly, decently… more or less? sure he’s being stalked.

how does he know?

he has a stalker.

he’s pretty sure it’s a stalker.

yeah, see, jisung is fairly handsome, that much is a given. his fashion sense is top-notch, his humor is one of a kind, he’s a great friend, amazing at emotional support, and overall, his entire personality is pretty _bomb_. objectively. so, really, being popular and sought-after should pretty much be a given, too— even when his college peers haven’t yet discovered it, because jisung is a private person, but anyone who spends a prolonged period of time with him should definitely know. it shouldn’t come as a surprise, that someone would pursue him.

jisung would’ve just thought that _pursuing_ would be more in the cute ‘i am into you and want to hang out and maybe date you if you would grace me with your presence’ kind of way, and less in the literal, creepy as shit ‘every step you take, i’ll be watching you’ way. if that makes sense.

but here jisung is, leaving his last lecture for the day, squeezing the strap of his laptop bag between his fingers as he speedwalks through the crowded hallway, and there _he_ is, a couple of strides behind, walking in the same direction as jisung. towards the campus dorms.

the creep’s name is minho.

jisung went on a date with him once.

or, well, it wasn’t exactly a date, per se, not intentionally. jisung had been out and about, moping but not admitting to it, alone on christmas day, fuelled by boredom and a healthy amount of spite. he’d _insisted_ with a healthy amount of threats that he _wanted_ hyunjin and changbin to have time to themselves that day, which was true, because as much as he loves them and they love him it is not a three-way kind of polyamorous thing and the love in him also might not withstand being the third wheel on christmas of all unfortunate events, and so— it was better that way. they still smothered him with their concern for lunch and practically begged for his presence and he gets it, that he’s amazing, but they need to be able to let go, too. it’s a valuable lesson for everyone.

jisung quickens his pace and tries not to bump into _every_ single person around him, drawing his arms and shoulders in. he doesn’t dare look behind him.

there’s a pointe here about a stalker, right, so—

on christmas, jisung had ventured outside against his better judgement, and caved in the face of his favorite café with his favorite cheesecake just outside campus grounds, that he somehow ended up at without any intention at all. it had been crowded, but this guy waved jisung over to offer him the spot at his table, and jisung is no idiot, so he took the chance. but jisung _is_ an idiot, is the thing. he’d held small talk, and been friendly, and it had felt so good to experience something unexpected, and— well, the guy had been hot. right. ridiculously hot. they’d gotten along well, and he’d bought jisung another slice of cake, and laughed about jisung’s immaculate sense of humor. it was maybe kind of an unintentional date? it could be classified as one, maybe. it was nice. until, well, the guy had to go, and jisung hadn’t figured out how to ask for his number yet, but he only said, _‘i’ll see you around.’_

without actually exchanging numbers, jisung would’ve thought that to be a clear dismissal. then jisung thought maybe they go to the same college and he’d seen jisung around. then jisung did see him around, but couldn’t catch him to talk. and then again, and missed him again. and again, and the next moment he was gone. sometimes jisung only blinks, and it’s like he wasn’t there at all.

every single time jisung steps foot outside his dorm room, without fail, he’ll see the intimidating figure somewhere in his peripheral (sometimes in warm-toned knit-wear with sweater paws, sometimes in classic black with fitted _everything_ ; jisung once missed a step and almost fell down the stairs and broke his neck while distracted by him, so that’s scary); hanging around, coincidentally walking in the same direction. in the campus hallways, across the yard, standing on the other side of the cafeteria window. but every time jisung scraped enough courage together to confront him, he was suddenly gone without a trace. nobody saw him, nobody knows who he is.

so clearly minho is either a hallucination (could be, he’s _unreasonably_ hot), or a creepy stalker unhealthily obsessed with jisung (could be, jisung is a _delight_ ).

hyunjin laughed first, because _‘who would want to stalk you?’_ , and then jisung punched his arm, because _‘shut the fuck up, i am irresistible’_.

jisung’s made it outside, almost jogging across campus trying not to let his phone slip from his hands as he’s considering calling hyunjin for emotional support. well, he could, but.

the first weeks, hyunjin tried to rationalize it away by saying minho might just be in the same department, and now that jisung’s met him once, jisung is subconsciously looking for him and picking him out of the crowd (could be. he’s _stupidly_ attractive, okay). jisung’s never seen him in any of his classes, though, he never hangs around or talks to anyone, and the students jisung asks never noticed a _super hot model guy_ standing, like, right beside them, looking gorgeous. that doesn’t make sense.

by the time minho seemed to want to approach _jisung_ (maybe, he walked right in that direction), shit had become way too weird. jisung doesn’t want to talk anymore, he isn’t interested in answers, thanks, please remain at a safe distance of, uh, a mile.

so— after he mentioned seeing minho round the corner of his dorm floor, changbin _coincidentally_ started appearing right outside jisung’s lecture halls, too, insisting he had nowhere else to be and nothing better to do than hang out (for exactly the duration of their walk back to jisung’s room, at which point changbin would remember he had somewhere else to be). it was sweet. then jisung felt bad. then jisung told himself it probably wasn’t really a stalker, just a very mysterious hard-to-remember (?) student, and he overreacted, and hyunjin and changbin didn’t have to worry so much.

he’s trying not to freak out to hyunjin as much anymore. it’s probably fine. maybe it’s just a ghost (could be, because who wouldn’t notice him if he was real?) or jisung’s losing his mind (could be, because midterms are coming up).

nobody’s following him when jisung does look; no minho at all when he’s rushing down the hallway to his room and fumbling to open the door. no steps sounding outside as he locks it and slumps down to his knees.

anyway, the moral of the story is— don’t go outside and don’t go on dates, kids. the hotter the person, the higher the chance they’re crazy (?). hyunjin and changbin are actually really good friends. when someone says they’ll _see you_ , make them clarify if they mean it in the creepy serial killer way (!).

jisung figures it’s fine for now, really, he ought to work on assignments and study and he still has food stored somewhere so it’s not like he _wants_ to go back out anytime soon, anyway. it might help his grades. and he’s a bit of a homebody, too, so. it’s not that he’s worried, at all. about some minho walking the earth, or whoever.

jisung throws himself face-down onto his bed, tension finally seeping out of his body. it’s fine, he’s safe. this is where he really belongs. nothing bad has ever happened when he’s stayed inside.

  


*

  


he shouldn’t have stayed inside. why did he? because jisung is an idiot, that’s why. in fact, he should’ve moved out weeks ago, maybe left the country. or at least pestered changbin to let him sleep on his couch or floor or he might’ve accepted, like, a broom closet, too. changbin’s fancy (more than one-person) apartment probably has a broom closet.

it’s just past 9 pm and jisung gave up trying to use his brain for the day about 10 minutes ago and about 10 seconds ago there was knocking on his door and he didn’t have the capacity left to _think_ and he opened the door and—

it’s minho. his (maybe?) stalker.

“hi, i—”

jisung closes the door.

minho knocks again.

jisung locks it.

if he doesn’t answer, minho will leave eventually, right? he won’t, like, get out an axe and force his way in to chop jisung into tiny little pieces? that’d be ridiculous, someone would hear jisung screaming. he’d probably be kidnapped and taken someone else first, so there might be a chance to escape on the way. he might have a pocket knife lying around somewhere that he could shove into his sock, or—

“jisung, would you please open the door? i just want to talk.”

jisung’s about to grab his chair to defend himself with, because nobody has ever _meant_ that sentence as harmlessly as it sounds, in the history of ever.

“i wanted to apologize for scaring you, will you hear me out?”

huh.

“i’m listening.” jisung lowers the chair.

“will you let me in?”

“no, i can hear you just fine.”

jisung can barely hear anything with his heart thundering in his ears, but that’s fine. he’s not about to let some creep into his room. the chair doesn’t look sturdy enough to take out a person without breaking into 76 pieces at first contact.

“i’m sorry i scared you, i shouldn’t have.” minho’s voice is muffled through the door, and jisung does have to step a bit closer to hear. “i thought it was kind of funny at first, but you seem really spooked, so i want to clear things up.”

“okay? so… you’re not, like, a stalker? you actually go here?”

“i’m not a stalker.”

“are you a student of this college?”

“i am here to peacefully talk to you about something very important, will you please let me in?”

jisung is maybe a bit of an idiot, but not _that_ much of one. something is wrong with this person, and that’s something he should take up with his therapist, or, like, god. whoever.

“no i will not, thank you. i appreciate the apology? but i’m kind of busy,” jisung calls out.

“i know you’re not. look, i don’t mean to freak you out, just,” minho sighs. jisung picks up the chair again. “okay, try not to freak out. please don’t scream.”

what?

jisung stares at the door.

minho steps into the room, through the closed door.

jisung screams.

jisung also jerks back so violently he stumbles over the cable of his phone charger, his phone clatters to the floor, his back connects harshly with his desk and now he’s cursing as he loses hold on the useless chair and it hits his thigh and right foot before crashing into the ground with a loud thump. fuck.

what the _fuck_.

“what the fuck—”

minho is frozen at the doorway, hands raised with his palms open to jisung, trying not to look dangerous after he just fucking _walked through a wooden door_.

“ _please_ don’t freak out, i’m—”

“no, what the fuck? holy shit, what—”

where’s his fucking phone? who does he call? the police? ghostbusters? a fucking mental institution to do himself a favor? what—

jisung blindly fishes his phone out from under the bed by the charging cable, but then minho’s voice is much closer than before, shivers running down his spine.

“i’m not here to hurt you, okay, i promise. i’m here to grant you three wishes.”

what in the everloving hell of a fuck did that guy smoke?

no, no, jisung just saw him walk through a door.

what in the everloving hell of a fuck did jisung smoke?

oh my god, was he drugged?

minho makes himself at home on jisung’s bed, sitting down cross-legged, leaning back against the wall. calm, at peace. like he isn’t some weird freak hallucination jisung is apparently having. how much did he sleep? fuck, if changbin finds out—

“i told you not to freak out,” minho tuts, noticing how jisung is pressing a hand to his throbbing thigh. “here.”

then jisung’s thigh isn’t throbbing anymore. the pain in his foot and back is gone. jisung gapes at his hands. maybe he’s dreaming. maybe this isn’t real, and he’s waking up in the matrix. maybe this is his superhero quest, his call to adventure.

“okay, so,” minho goes on, “three wishes. i’m not counting that, that was my apology. aren’t i kind? anything you want, but no killing, that’s messy. no way to change the laws of the universe, either. three, not five or a thousand. then i’m gone.”

maybe the all-nighter last night and the five energy drinks just did a major number on him, jesus, that’s sad.

minho raises one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows. well, what is jisung supposed to fucking say to that?

“are you, like,” jisung croaks, “my subconscious telling me to rethink all of my life choices and commit to better ways before i drive myself into an early grave?”

minho rolls his eyes.

would jisung’s subconscious be rude to him like that? probably.

“i know your generation has lost all understanding of the spiritual, but i’m not the one to rectify that gap in your education. well, unless you wish me to, then i might.”

minho flops down sideways, propping himself up on an elbow, pretty dark hair framing his pretty dark eyes. he’s dressed flawlessly, tight black jeans and silky blue shirt, top buttons undone. that’s distracting.

jisung’s brain has too much to process to care about how upsettingly good-looking this personification of his fever dream is, but— he does care. a lot. how does he explain this to the police? he obviously won’t explain this to changbin and hyunjin, they’ll just make fun of him until the end of his days. he locks his phone.

“you’re here to… grant me wishes?”

minho nods patiently.

“like… a genie?”

minho blinks a couple of times, his round eyes glittering. he sighs. “if that is your point of reference, sure. like a genie.”

“why?”

“you woke me up.”

“i didn’t do anything—”

“you found an artifact, and i was sleeping inside, and now i am awake and you get three wishes.” minho speaks slowly, enunciating every word like jisung is, well, having difficulty understanding. which he is, but that just feels offensive. minho waves a hand between them. “have you never seen any fantasy movies?”

“artifact?”

jisung tries to shove minho possibly being a weird serial killer hallucination (?) out of his conscious thought to dig through his memory instead— what kind of fucking _artifact_? did someone slip him a shady used notebook? he doesn’t even write on paper anymore, like, 99% of the time. did he pick up a possibly cursed old coin? not from the street, he wouldn’t. an antique necklace? he kind-of-borrowed maybe-stole one from hyunjin, but it’s a gucci knock-off, looked fairly new. they were doing _intense_ gift shopping some weeks back, before christmas, and hyunjin bought that thing along with a ring for changbin, and jisung had picked a pair of earrings for his mother and one for himself, and— _the genie bottle_. before that, in an antique store, an old foreign oil lamp, and jisung had seen that in movies before, and he’d gently rubbed it when hyunjin wasn’t looking, and holy shit.

“holy shit.”

jisung stares at minho, revelation bathing him in— fear, honestly, as minho contorts his mouth in a way that looks like he’s trying not to laugh in jisung’s face. rude.

“you’re a _genie_?”

“i’m minho, but you can call me whatever you like,” minho grins, wagging his eyebrows in a very smug, very annoying manner.

“okay, _genie_ , prove it.”

“what?”

jisung gestures around and between them with his arms, still not daring to stand, expectant. “show me your powers or something, do something cool. unless you’re actually my mental-breakdown-demon and lying to me.”

minho blinks at jisung, three times. “sure, if you make a wish.”

“i wish i had fried chicken right now.”

minho— sighs.

“no, you don’t.”

jisung is obviously still a step behind, no idea where minho is headed with anything that makes it out of his mouth. his pretty mouth. is that a… spiritual magical being thing? the attractiveness? or a hallucination kind of thing? because honestly, he’s someone jisung would definitely dream up. like, generally, not in a weird sexual way, just—

“okay, well— what about… money. i want a million won.”

minho sighs, sitting up. “nope, but,” he starts, stretching his legs out over the edge of the bed, right in front of jisung— wow, thighs— to reach into his jeans pocket and pull something out. “i picked this up earlier, if you want it?” he holds out a 10 000 won bill.

“you can buy that ramyeon you like. my treat.”

jisung stares at the crumpled bill. this is— fraud. this is deception. who the fuck is minho, even? jisung reaches for the paper to maybe chuck it in minho’s perfect face, but he can’t grab it. his hand— goes right through minho’s.

his hand falls right through the bill and minho’s palm, not touching solid matter at all.

jisung’s hand just went through a person’s hand and now there’s a weird, warm tingling crawling up his arm and right, no, fuck, none of this is _right_ — jisung crawls backwards until his back hits his wardrobe. minho regards him almost apologetically as he cradles his hand to his chest.

“only you can see and hear me, jisung. to the others, i was never there.”

minho leaves the bed to crouch down in front of jisung, knees to chest. his smile is sweet, if not deceptive. “three wishes,” he tilts his head, “that you mean. sleep on it.”

behind him, screaming for jisung to look at it, things start moving in the room— the chair jisung dropped rights itself and slides neatly in front of the desk, the phone lifts itself back up on the nightstand. jisung, though, finds himself caught by minho’s gaze; dark and deep and there may be no end to it, the depth of his eyes, maybe they could swallow jisung whole. maybe that’s what minho is going to do to him, eventually.

minho reaches towards jisung and jisung follows his instinct to close his eyes, shoulders curling further in. the ghost of a touch, just a hint of warmth and tingling, moves from the top of his head down to his nape, brushing along his ear.

minho’s voice is low and gentle, honey-sweet, too close and too distant: “call me and i’ll be there.”

when jisung opens his eyes, his room is empty.

the bedsheets and pillows are without a single crease, no sign of anyone having touched them at all.

that’s it, that was _it_. he’s lost his marbles.

jisung stays on the floor for another minute or five, suppressing the urge to scream, before he dives into his bed and allows his mind to collapse in on itself from exhaustion and overstimulation.

they’re gone, the marbles. possibly irretrievable. hopefully not. jisung really does need them to get through his education and get an at least semi-stable well-paying job so he can afford, well, _living_. with marbles.

that’s fine, it’s okay. it’ll be okay! he’s just sleep-deprived, so sleep will probably fix all of this.

  


*

  


sleep didn’t fix shit, life is unfair, and jisung sure spared one poor soul when he managed to snag this single room.

when jisung blinks his eyes open the next morning, vague knowledge in the back of his mind that he slept through his alarms, minho is right in front of him, spinning around in jisung’s chair.

jisung screams.

minho flinches and stops himself with his feet, grimacing, “man, you’re jumpy.”

jisung scrunches his eyes shut and opens them again, but minho is still there. he tries again, for good measure, but minho won’t disappear. _fuck_. how long are fever dreams supposed to last? maybe it only feels like an eternity? maybe he’s just stuck somewhere, trapped in his own mind.

minho raises an unimpressed, perfectly styled eyebrow at jisung’s pathetic form, pressed flat against the wall with his blanket drawn up to his chin.

“you missed your alarms. you’re supposed to meet your friends for lunch in an hour.”

“what are you, my secretary from hell?”

“nah, never been there.” minho shrugs and resumes his spinning. in jisung’s chair.

jisung doesn’t have the mental capacity for this. he gets out of bed at the farthest end from minho before he locks himself in the tiny bathroom to either try and wash up and get ready for another beautiful day, or maybe attempt to drown himself in the sink. he’s standing at the sink, but he’s undecided. fuck. he can’t really do that to his friends now can he.

he’s kind of shaking and kind of freaking out as jisung washes up as fast as he can, darts back in and out of his room with whatever clothes he can grab and gets changed. his fashion sense is usually better than this and it hurts a part of his soul but honestly, given the circumstances, it’s an A for effort.

jisung peaks into the room. minho is still there, flipping through one of jisung’s magazines on music production equipment. he doesn’t look dangerous as of this moment, so jisung continues not to interact with the apparition as he collects his wallet and phone.

“did you come up with three wishes?”

shivers run down and up and down and sideways and all over jisung’s back, and arms, and legs, and fingers and toes, too. jisung doesn’t look. jisung puts on his jacket and shoes and gets the fuck out of there.

  


*

  


lunch is terrible. jisung can’t taste anything. he has no appetite. there’s no point. what’s the need for nourishment when he’s actually stuck in a nightmare and none of this is real?

changbin and hyunjin exchange worried glances without trying to be subtle about it at all, and jisung is aware he probably looks like shit and should reassure them about it, but he’s too busy trying not to look over at minho sitting at the table right behind changbin’s and hyunjin’s backs, boring holes into jisung’s being with his giant glittery demon eyes. jisung’s having a bad morning, alright.

“i’m just having a bad morning, stop looking like that,” he croaks, running a hand over his face. it doesn’t help, minho is still there.

“did something happen?”

“is it that creep? should i beat him up?”

“no, no, it’s—” jisung doesn’t doubt that changbin means it when he says it, but jisung _does_ doubt that changbin’s fists could do much about whatever the fuck jisung’s subconscious is trying to do here. “i just didn’t sleep well, it’s fine! no creeps anywhere in sight.”

“calling me creep, how rude. correct that,” minho drawls. he is now sitting cross-legged on top of the table, blinking expectantly.

what the fuck does he expect jisung to do? scream? because that’s all jisung has come up with so far, and it hasn’t gotten him anywhere. maybe he just has to scream loud _enough_ to assert dominance and scare minho away? do hallucinations work like that? fuck if he knows.

“ohh, ignoring me. very classy of you,” minho quips. jisung ignores it.

jisung tries hard to listen to hyunjin rant about this presumptuous douchebag in his contemporary dance class that hyunjin declared to be a presumptuous douchebag after being assigned the main spot in their upcoming dance showcase instead of him, and he always _knew_ that guy was bad news, and now this is the proof. changbin nods along in support, even if he struggles to keep his mouth in a straight line.

“should i beat him up for you?”

“no offense, hyung, but he could crush a man’s skull with his thighs. what a showoff.”

jisung doesn’t think of minho’s thighs spread out on his bed last night, nope. it’s just— oh. what if minho is _that_ kind of hallucination? shit, is jisung that desperate?

minho raises his eyebrows when their eyes meet.

fuck, he can’t read thoughts, can he?

_begone, demon. you are horrendous to look at, not attractive at all._

minho only stares back, blinking lazily.

he probably can’t. hopefully.

“jisung?”

“huh?”

jisung focuses back on his friends, and they’re exchanging that _look_ again. great.

“did you want something else? you barely ate.”

“no, i’m good. i guess i’m still half asleep, don’t mind me.”

he forces a smile onto his face, and he knows it looks fake, and they know it’s fake, and it’s just something everyone has to put up with for now. shit’s tough. he pretends to be part of the conversation for another couple minutes and then excuses himself to leave for an afternoon class.

he’s an hour early, but it’s an excuse to leave, and maybe minho gets the hint, after all. jisung keeps looking over his shoulder the rest of the day, unread messages from changbin and hyunjin an extra weight on them, but minho stays away.

  


*

  


jisung spends the next two days mostly holed up in his room, finishing and polishing and almost starting over an assignment he can’t afford to start over at this point. jisung is so lost in his anxiety-fueled focus that he doesn’t really notice time passing and energies shifting and something terrible happen, until he stretches and turns his head sideways and minho is lying on his bed, propped up on an elbow, cheek resting in his palm.

jisung screams. minho laughs. this happens twice.

“fucking hell— shit, why the hell do you—”

“it’s funny. do you have wishes for me now?”

“no, fuck you, go away. what the hell—”

“has anyone told you you’re kind of rude?”

“ _please_ go away, i have no time for a breakdown, this is due tomorrow.”

minho sighs, ever so bothered by the mental anguish he causes, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “you’re so dramatic for such a tiny human, that can’t be good for you.”

jisung exhales shakily through too many different kinds of anxieties trying to ruin his life all at the same time. he blinks, and minho is gone.

good riddance.

  


*

  


and it only goes downhill from there. well, further down. the hill only gets steeper. something like that.

before, minho would appear somewhere in jisung’s peripheral, at a safe distance, creepy as fuck but possible to ignore and outrun. he was just kind of _there_. now, though, minho appears, creepy as fuck, right next to jisung. or in front of him, or behind him, and jisung hasn’t tried to check the ceilings to maybe find minho crawling up there like some nightmare terror from hell, spider limbs and twisted head and that shit. there are things jisung doesn’t ever need to know about.

it’s bad enough being stared at right through the cafeteria window while trying to get a single bite of cheap sandwich down. really. sometimes minho waves at him. strikes up a conversation easily, no matter who is around. because nobody is fucking seeing him. _have you thought about it? do you have one now? do you want me to do something about your height?_ and jisung tries his best not to be heard hissing at the seat to his side to _for all that is holy, go away_.

minho doesn’t go away. at least, not for long.

jisung’s stressed and angry and nose-deep, quite literally, into his research hidden away in a blissfully (relatively, actually not at all) empty corner of the library, when minho pops into this version of reality (is it?) again. but, like, in the douchiest most annoying way possible.

jisung is trying not to rip out every single strand of hair in his scalp, staring off into space, when minho steps up to the table. steps right out of the bookshelf.

jisung yelps. everyone turns to look at him. nobody looks at minho.

“sorry, i just,” he slinks down in his seat, heat rising up to his ears, “just remembered a deadline.”

minho sits down opposite of him, grinning in the face of jisung’s not at all concealed anger. this fucking non-existent bastard.

“how about now? don’t you wish to pass your exams?”

jisung scribbles on the side of his notes and subtly slides it into minho’s field of view.

_‘i don’t need to cheat for that. you’re not real, leave me be.’_

“mm,” minho drawls, “i’m honestly getting a bit tired of this me-erasure.” he takes a moment to look around and then nods over to the table directly to jisung’s right, a guy in a green hoodie slumped over some books, hand loosely wrapped around a cup of coffee. minho wiggles his pointer finger. one of the books levitates a couple inches off the table, neatly spins around in the air, and sinks back down with the cover upwards. the guy flinches, suddenly sat straight, color seeping out of his already pale face. he stares doubtfully at his coffee cup for a good 5 seconds, rubs a hand over his eyes, then turns the book back around.

well, fuck. hallucinations aren’t supposed to actually be able to interact with other people, are they?

minho raises both eyebrows in expectation. jisung tries not to scream or groan or maybe wail, jaw tight. fine. this is it. this is even worse than a quickly deteriorating sanity. jisung has a creepy _spiritual being_ or whatever shit attached to him and absolutely no time or energy to freak out about this or offer himself up for some exorcism or scientific experiment or whatever shit. he’s not doing this.

  


*

  


“no zapping into existence without prior discreet warning. no scaring the shit out of me in front of others. no talking or distracting me in front of others. nothing that weighs on my mental health, it’s fragile. stop that shit.”

minho, the friendly neighborhood haunting, only smiles up at jisung from his spot on the floor, legs folded beneath him. jisung is just about 325% done with all of his shit.

“didn’t you say you would come _when i called_? i never called you.”

“i never said i would _only_ come when you called. or always. please respect my schedule.” minho rocks his body back and forth, clearly unfazed. “and you’d never call at all, hoping i’d just go away by myself.”

“would you?”

“no. i’m stuck with you, all the time. until i grant you three wishes.”

“well that’s great, i don’t want anything, you can go.”

“what part of _stuck_ do you not understand? i can’t leave your side.”

jisung’s getting a headache. he is not prepared to deal with the supernatural and superbothersome. “then just give me money or whatever, okay, i wish for a million won. three times.”

“no, you don’t.”

jisung groans. no, he doesn’t. he doesn’t really want anything, or he can’t think of it right now, and maybe he will never be able to think of the right thing to ask of some otherworldly being. but money, grades, graduating, a career— he will get that himself, he doesn’t need tricks for that.

is this some kind of weird self-discovery quest the universe has sent him on? is that it? he doesn’t have time for this game. finals don’t wait for spiritual epiphanies.

does he have to endure minho being around him all the time now? every day? like this? fucking hell— hold on.

“you can’t leave my side? not ever?”

“not very far.”

“so you’re always there? even when i don’t see you?”

“yup,” minho pops the p, eyes wide and looking deceptively harmless.

“so like,” jisung takes a step back, “when i sleep, too? when i shower— and stuff?”

an uncomfortable silence stretches between them. minho blinks up at him.

“always with you, buddy.”

jisung’s knees go weak and he sinks down on the edge of his bed. “oh brother.”

“you know, the only form of bossing around i accept are wishes. you say them, i so generously grant them, and we’re good.” minho stands up, pretending to dust his pants off. he’s in all black today, attractive, but when is the bastard not? he’s magical, or whatever. his dark hair flips this way and that as he tilts his head from one side to the other, stretching his neck. “but i feel like we really have to meet in the middle here to make this work.”

“i don’t want any of this.”

“i will respect the conditions you ask for, because i am very kind. i also offer you to stay away during your… private times.”

“oh my god—”

“but i do need you to make those wishes, because i need to grant them, and then i can be on my way. yeah?”

“look, i don’t know, okay? i barely have the capacity to mimic being a person, i can’t go digging around my psyche right now.”

minho crosses his arms, exhaling heavily. he doesn’t look angry, he looks disappointed. “is that so?”

“can i wish for mental stability for the rest of my life?”

“i am not a miracle worker, jisung, there are limits.”

“then what are you even good for?” jisung whines.

minho pouts, exaggerating his pink, full upper lip. damn him. “i have a dashing personality.”

jisung falls onto his bed with a groan.

  


*

  


surprisingly, minho keeps his words. no more jumpscares, no more near-death experiences, no creepy sightings in the hallway. he does still appear when jisung is alone in his dorm room, but he does it… gently, somehow? it’s a weird, vague thing, a tingling somewhere around jisung’s ear, at his nape, and then minho’s smooth voice will greet him first before the visual pops into view with the next blink. he’s bored, minho says, since he can’t go anywhere and— jisung isn’t going anywhere. so jisung lets minho spin in his chair or sit on his bed or watch over his shoulder as he’s working, trying not to let it distract him (too much). he falls asleep at his desk a couple of times, he remembers for sure, but he always finds himself in his bed when he wakes up some hours later, oddly relaxed. minho doesn’t say anything, so jisung doesn’t, either. they put up with it, somehow.

  


*

  


when jisung walks through the door after the last exam of the semester, only about 10% a person, collapsing on his bed face-first, minho’s low voice sounds amused.

“do you have a wish now?”

jisung groans a distressed _‘sleep’_ into the depths of his pillow. the ghost of a touch, warm and comforting, brushes over his hair, and lingers.

  


*

  


summer break is— interesting, to say the least. jisung successfully chalked all of his weirdness and panic up to exam stress and the general well-known college-anxiety and apologized a couple times, until hyunjin initiated a hug and changbin threw himself on top of them and they almost killed jisung and so they were even after that. jisung promised he’d survive on his own and sent them off on their trip with changbin’s family that he was invited to but passed on in favor of _not_ third wheeling for weeks with nowhere to escape to. when he called changbin for his birthday, they sounded happy, and that made jisung happy for a while.

he focuses on writing lyrics and composing melodies and not on how he’s feeling a bit stuck and lost in seoul by himself, drifting anchorless in a seemingly endless sea. something like that, it’s a line he’s working on. he doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

well. and then there’s minho.

jisung discovers that one feels a bit less lonely when actually haunted by someone all the time. funny how that works.

minho doesn’t have anywhere to go, only kind of sleeps (?) sometimes, or whatever he does wherever he disappears off to when he isn’t breathing down jisung’s neck (mostly metaphorically, sometimes literally (?), well, in that ghostly way of his). he pops in daily, demanding entertainment to ease the terrible, torturous boredom jisung is subjecting him to.

minho is ghosting over jisung’s shoulder, craning his neck to look at the laptop screen, a document open with a draft of lyrics. jisung doesn’t show people his work in progress, but he doesn’t mind much with minho, because, well, he’s not really a _person_ (?) but more of a superhuman being who’s mentally probably dimensions beyond caring to judge a human’s form of self-expression.

“that one’s pretty cheesy, if you ask me,” minho offers.

“nobody asked you.”

“i’m just trying to help.”

“don’t help.” jisung rolls his eyes, cracking his neck. he forgets to move regularly, sometimes, like this… or to eat… or to go to bed at normal times, as you do. well, minho pesters him every now and then to go out, because minho wants to go out, and so they do. sometimes. it’s not a big deal. jisung squints at the screen, reading over the lines, minho’s stare practically burning into the side of his head. he groans. “which one?”

minho turns out to be convenient to have around, too. sometimes. he seems to attract cats (and other animals) when they’re out in the park and then jisung gets to pet them, the august sun pleasant on jisung’s skin. minho seems especially smitten with cats, able to sit still as if he was frozen for long stretches of time as they try to figure out whether they like him or not, or watching jisung play with them instead. minho can also, in addition to cats, always find jisung an empty seat somewhere in cafés, and can _also_ , similar to a weather app but more effective because he annoys jisung right to his face about it, always tell when it’ll rain and jisung needs an umbrella or to stay the fuck inside. minho watches the rain outside the window with a fascination that speaks of reason, but minho doesn’t say anything, and so jisung doesn’t, either.

  


*

  


“so, like, those genie rules,” jisung wonders aloud, spinning in his swivel chair, taking a break from writing.

“my rules, what about them?”

“so they’re _yours_? you made them?”

“some.”

“okay? but those are up to you to enforce or not?”

“there’s no _‘genie’_ police.”

jisung picks up one of his crumpled post-it notes and chucks it at minho, lounging on jisung’s bed, busy on jisung’s phone, watching— cat videos, possibly. the paper ball flies right through him, bouncing off the wall. he doesn’t even flinch. jisung squints at him.

“okay, so, if you wanted, you could give out, like, _five_ wishes—”

“three, jisung.”

“but if it’s _your_ rule, you—”

“ _three_ , yet you can’t even make use of _one_.”

jisung throws another paper ball at him, out of principle.

  


*

  


hyunjin never stops texting him so jisung sends back pictures of the stray cats, or the blue sky, or a slice of cake minho got him (if jisung doesn’t ask, jisung isn’t complicit in theft). hyunjin pretends to be shocked that jisung’s alive (and sometimes outside). changbin sends him just an emoji of a pair of eyes, without context. jisung ignores that one.

  


*

  


it’s not that he can forget, or is trying to. the conditions of their arrangement.

jisung does consider the three wishes seriously, but he draws a blank. wishing for success or fame or a successful music career seems like cheating— he needs it to be his own hard work, he is capable of it, he knows it. even if others don’t believe in him. and apart from that, there’s not much else he wants. money would be convenient, but it is a temporary thing, either too little or too much, tempting and easily blown on meaningless things. his family supports him financially, at least, and he can get by just fine if he only paces himself. it’s not money he wants, and not the fame.

so, he doesn’t really know, for now. what do you ask for, when given the chance? what if you choose wrong? what if you don’t know what you’re missing?

minho doesn’t push it anymore, and jisung doesn’t bring it up either. as long as he and his friends and family are healthy and happy, he supposes that’s all that matters, at the end of the day.

  


*

  


“can you grant a lifetime of health and happiness to everyone i know or will get to know at some point in the future?”

“jisung, i can grant you three wishes, not hundreds of life insurances. that takes clairvoyancy, and i don’t fuck with that.”

“figures.”

  


*

  


jisung starts their horror movie tradition without knowing he does when he suggests a classic spooky ghost story, because when he thinks about what topics might interest minho, he figures other supernatural beings must certainly be more relatable than humans, at least.

minho spends the entire movie nitpicking every single thing there is possibly to nitpick. then he nitpicks jisung’s reasoning for the choice.

“what, you think i could relate to ghosts? what part of me screams ‘i’m stuck in this realm because i have emotional baggage i haven’t dealt with’?”

minho regards jisung with an intimidatingly raised brow. then his gaze grows more thoughtful as he looks jisung up and down, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

“hm, well. touché, but i wouldn’t have called you that.”

“ _excuse_ you—”

in the end, minho still approves of the choice, and somehow it’s the most fun jisung’s had watching any movie in a long time.

  


*

  


after summer break, the usual fog settles over jisung, and even as he continues to reject call after call, changbin and hyunjin don’t point it out. it’s nothing to talk about, just endure and move on. minho tags along to their occasional lunch or dinner meet-ups, and he doesn’t annoy or distract jisung per se, not in a bad way, but he will sit somewhere in jisung’s field of vision and make faces at things changbin or hyunjin say, will make gagging motions or shake his head emphatically or whisper a witty retort that jisung parrots and gets credit for, because they’re a team, or whatever, and that’s what teamwork is. and if it’s easier to laugh through these days than in previous years, well, that can have many reasons (that are not a person). when minho laughs along with them, it feels— weird, but not in a bad way. kind of like that ghost of a touch on his head sometimes, or the sun on his face, but somewhere in his chest, the most gentle kind of warmth.

minho is a supernatural being, so, supernatural things are probably common. it’s probably not odd, with minho.

  


*

  


minho does get more demanding, more persistent in his quest to grace jisung with his brilliant, charming, _irresistible_ personality every chance he gets. which are many, because minho can do whatever he wants. he pops up in jisung’s lectures randomly, throwing pens and paper balls at jisung when jisung nods off or gets lost somewhere in his own head. honestly, an impeccably dressed hot guy standing right next to their professor, angrily pointing at the slide jisung isn’t looking at with his sweater paw, might be more detrimental to jisung’s academic career than any bad day he’s having, but— who is jisung to complain? who is jisung to try and stop an otherworldly being from doing what they think is best? he is but a simple, weak, easily-amused human, who maybe likes minho’s face best out of everything else in college, these days. on bad days, especially.

  


*

  


jisung’s birthday is— nothing to talk about. he turns off his phone, lets hyunjin and changbin toast to him (minho dramatically plays along in the back) and push some gifts into his hands— gift coupons and a crumpled piece of paper from hyunjin that reads _‘permit to keep the necklace you stole’_ — and then jisung gets drunk, because that’s the easiest coping mechanism for this occasion. it’s comfortable, though, as it usually is with his two best friends— and with minho, too, it is comfortable. jisung wonders if minho ever feels left out, nobody seeing him or hearing him, always somewhere in the back, playing his own show— jisung thinks there’s a metaphor there, no, an analogy, a parallel? to be drawn to the way that jisung sometimes feels, human and flesh and bone and still invisible, or something, that’s cheesy but he’ll have to write it down. jisung, at least, sees him. watches minho dance goofily on changbin’s coffee table without kicking anything off, and then jisung struggles to contain and explain the surge of laughter when minho moonwalks up and down the ceiling, hair somehow staying in place, sending jisung an exaggerated wink. it’s the alcohol, jisung reasons. he’s tipsy, is all.

“do i get another wish as a birthday gift?” jisung wonders, swaying only a bit as he walks back to the dorm. he assured changbin and hyunjin he’d be fine, he wasn’t _that_ tipsy after all. and anyway, minho was there.

“you don’t even know what to use the ones you have for, what are you saying,” minho _giggles_ , easy and bright, a step behind jisung. “do you want me to stick around forever? is that it? did my charms work?”

“did mine not?” jisung pouts. “do you want to get rid of me so badly?”

he’s loosely holding his phone to his ear, pretending to speak into it. he didn’t come up with it, minho did.

“i’ll gift you whatever you want, if you wish for it,” minho teases, drifting closer.

jisung considers it for a second, only a second— something he might wish for, right then. there’s a spark of something flickering in his stomach, something flickering in minho’s eyes as he bats his eyelashes playfully.

jisung shoves at him, even when he knows his hand will glide right through him.

“i’m good for now.”

  


*

  


it’s good enough, until it isn’t, later at night when jisung’s alone in his room, alone with his thoughts, and maybe it’s the wrong time to turn his phone back on. it lights up immediately, vibrates in his hand with an incoming call. not his brother or father, but his mom, this time.

he lets his finger hover over the ‘accept’ button for a very, very long time. eventually, it goes to voicemail. this one stings more than the rest, somehow.

he scrolls to changbin’s contact, then to hyunjin’s, then back. and back again. in the end, it’s nothing he wants to talk about or bother them with, it’s just— best left alone, for now.

he lies on his bed, staring at his ceiling, for half an hour. then he hesitantly calls out, “minho?”

minho is there in an instant, between one blink and the next, crouching down besides jisung’s bed.

jisung takes a while to figure out what it is he even wants, but doesn’t know if he can ask for it, either way. maybe he shouldn’t have called minho. maybe minho will laugh at him. minho is waiting patiently, though, just sitting there, being with him.

“could you—” he starts, but his voice gives up, and he doesn’t bother. he reaches out a hesitant hand instead, uselessly, knowing full well it won’t work.

jisung reaches for minho’s sleeve, and he manages to grip it. solid, firm fabric between his fingers. (real? could be; it could be that he’s dreaming.)

if he’s dreaming, well, then he has the courage for this.

jisung gently pulls on minho’s sleeve, towards himself. then he scoots back to press himself against the wall, making space. maybe it’s stupid, he’s not a kid anymore, but—

minho follows without a word, movements slow and deliberate; he lies down in jisung’s bed, oddly _solid_ , offering his arm. jisung lays his head on minho’s shoulder without shame, minho’s arm circling around his back, holding on.

“i didn’t know you could do that,” jisung whispers, listening to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear. (real? probably not real.)

“it’s kind of exhausting, and it feels a bit weird,” minho whispers back. “nobody looked at you funny for talking to yourself when we met on christmas, right?”

the memory comes back to jisung; their first meeting, accidentally— so he’d thought. right. there hadn’t been anything off about minho then.

“i’m so kind, right? you’re welcome,” minho quips.

jisung hits his stomach, no strength in it at all.

like this, jisung can pretend for a bit, breathe a bit easier. not as alone, not as— overlooked, drowning in a grey mass, one in a billion without any defining feature. like this, it’s easier to forget for a moment that he still doesn’t really belong, not here or anywhere, not to any home.

home— feels far, far away. further than the maps tell him when he looks.

“does this count as a wish?”

minho’s thumb is moving up and down jisung’s side, calming. “it’s on the house.”

jisung hums in acknowledgement.

“aren’t i nice?”

he burrows his face in minho’s neck and hums again, squeezing his eyes closed. he’s not going to cry. he’s not going to think back on things that only hurt him.

so what if home is far? was it home, at all?

could it ever be?

“i know a wish. can i say it?”

“if you want to.”

jisung tries to breathe through the desperation and loneliness digging into his lungs like thorns from within. he doesn’t mind the struggle, the hard work his dream will ask of him, he doesn’t. he doesn’t expect people to just believe whatever outlandish thing he says, it’s fine. he can prove his choices with time. he will. and he’s gotten better than back then, he usually is better than this, not as raw and torn open, just—

face pressed to minho’s neck, arm around minho’s chest, minho’s arm holding him close. he feels— right. holding a boy close, being held close by a boy.

jisung can fight for acceptance of his decisions. he can prove he was right. but—

“i wish my parents could love the person i am.”

he mumbles it against minho’s skin, maybe still too afraid of who could hear.

“is that possible?”

minho tightens his hold. “yeah, it is.”

jisung is not gonna cry— but maybe he comes close, for a second there.

a hesitant hand touches the back of his head, warm and comforting; minho’s voice, too, warm and comforting: “it’ll work out. call your mom when you’re ready.”

jisung nods imperceptibly, hoping the reassurance can settle deeper in his flesh and bones than the insecurity and shame did. for now, this is a little easier. this is a little less painful.

  


*

  


midterms and finals come and go by in a rush again, lack of sleep and overload of anxiety contorting time and space into a blurry mess in jisung’s consciousness, a constantly repeating scene of working late into the nights and eating way too much junk and reconsidering all life choices that led up to that very moment every other day.

minho is there, though, haunting jisung in many ways.

sometimes minho wakes jisung up when he forgets his alarm, or jisung wakes up in bed after falling asleep at his desk, a fresh coffee waiting for him, or minho will complain loudly that he wants to watch a movie and jisung doesn’t think he has the time, but minho insists, and jisung is bad at saying no to this being, apparently. and then, well, jisung’s head either feels blissfully empty of course work afterwards, or he wakes up safely tucked into his bed, no more than the beginning of the movie in his memory. if it’s one they’ve already watched, he’ll probably sleep. minho apparently likes re-watching things.

and, well, if jisung now maybe sometimes asks for minho to do that thing where his body actually becomes solid and jisung can touch it to, well, lean against him when they’re watching stuff— well, then, that is a thing. that happens. so what.

  


*

  


after finals, they celebrate surviving.

changbin’s going into his senior year, hyunjin and jisung into their junior, and jisung tries not to think too hard about any consequences of anything. they drink at changbin’s, and stuff their faces with food (and minho only watches, as usual, but jisung throws him a few winks and flying kisses so he doesn’t feel left out), and jisung is just the right amount of tipsy and happy when he goes home, minho sticking close.

“i think changbin saw me winking at you once, he looked so confused,” jisung’s laughing, swaying a little on his feet, just the tiniest slightest bit— like a wave is gently shaking him, and he’s swaying— like a jellyfish. a content, harmless jellyfish. a burst of giggles slip out of him from somewhere.

minho bumps into his side, circling a steadying arm around jisung’s shoulders. “good luck explaining that, genius.”

minho obviously hadn’t drank— could he, with his physical body? should they try that out?— but seems in a good mood, too, laughter spilling from him easily, smile wide and blinding. jisung likes this— all his favorite people with him, healthy and happy, celebrating together. well, kind of.

he’d brought up the idea of minho showing himself to changbin and hyunjin, but minho had been hesitant, and jisung backed off to not make him uncomfortable. he has no idea what it means, that minho looked uncomfortable. maybe he doesn’t like humans all that much, or maybe it’s jisung’s friends. maybe he fears not fitting in, but jisung is sure he would. maybe he needs time, but they have time. right? sure.

jisung sneaks an arm around minho’s waist and exaggerates his swaying, content for now. minho makes a noise of complaint, but doesn’t resist. that’s agreement, in minho’s language. jisung’s figured that one out.

they (mostly jisung) stumble into jisung’s room, warmth and laughter preserved between them, and jisung doesn’t really feel like letting go, so he doesn’t. he pulls on minho’s waist, but there’s some resistance, so jisung lets his hand drift over and down to minho’s hand instead, gripping it with intent. it’s firm and real, warm, just like any other hand; and in the dim light of the moon falling in through the window, they look just like any other two people, returning from a night out; and when jisung gets into bed and pulls minho in and minho follows, it feels like more than it’s ever been between them so far.

minho shuffles to the side so jisung can fit himself between minho and the wall, both facing each other. they’ve been in this situation before, kind of, but the warmth spreading in jisung’s chest is more intense than then, more insistent with meaning. it’s hard to see details, but minho’s eyes are all over jisung’s face, question evident in them. the first time, jisung was sad and lonely and needed comfort. this time, jisung doesn’t feel sad or particularly lonely as he presses a hand to minho’s chest, finding an erratic heartbeat under his palm; just the same as his own. it’s real, it’s _real_ , there’s no way it isn’t.

he wants to kiss him.

 _shit_ , jisung wants to kiss minho.

can’t he? is he not supposed to? does that break any rules? minho never said anything about any anti kissing rules. but maybe you’re just not supposed to want to kiss ethereal beautiful sweet beings, so there’s no need to specify. because that’s not supposed to happen.

well, honestly, fuck that? is someone gonna throw him in spirit jail?

would minho?

what if minho doesn’t want to kiss a lowly human?

worse, what if minho just doesn’t want to kiss jisung?

jisung curls his hand in minho’s shirt, crumpling the pristine silky fabric. minho only stares back at him, eyes wide and shiny, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

if this was anyone else, jisung would risk it; he isn’t blind, he can read signs. minho, though, is not anyone; minho is not like everyone else. jisung’s stomach flips, warmth making way for the familiar chaos of anxiety, making its way through his veins.

his voice is barely a hoarse whisper, weird in the stillness of the night, “will you stay?”

tonight, or tomorrow morning, or for much longer than supposed to— he’s afraid to specify.

minho swallows audibly, lashes fluttering, “if you want me to.”

“i do.”

jisung buries his face in minho’s chest, head tucked under his chin, and minho holds him close with an arm around his back, warm and safe. solid, real. for now.

minho’s breath is a bit shaky above him (real? not real? meant to seem real, but not), as he exhales heavily. then there’s a gentle pressure on the top of jisung’s head.

a kiss.

(real?)

jisung presses closer, naive hope blossoming somewhere between his ribs, anxiety keeping his mouth shut. maybe it’s real. or maybe it could be. maybe minho could want it to be real, too.

maybe minho dreams of what-ifs, too.

  


*

  


maybe minho is a stupid ass, though, because jisung wakes up alone, not comfortably tucked in but still on top of the covers, and that kind of sucks. it’s not quite heartbreaking yet, but feels somewhat— bitter.

there’s a steaming coffee waiting for him on his desk, though.

maybe minho is alright? sometimes.

he doesn’t drop by for breakfast, as he often does (not to eat, just to hang out, and it was only weird the first few times), and doesn’t show his face for lunch either, and then time is trickling into the late afternoon and jisung is— not heartbroken! but grumpy. a little. minho’s been good at pestering jisung all around the clock, and now that there’s just jisung— _just jisung_ feels a bit lonely in comparison.

he meant to wait it out, but fuck that. jisung is a brave man.

“minho?” he calls out, only his empty walls listening. it’s still a bit weird to just shout into the air and hope he’s listening. what if he’s too far, one day? jisung shouts louder, “minho! minho-yah!”

“yah, han jisung.”

dumb stupid silly joy bursts warm in jisung’s stomach. he forces it off his face, but it is not easy.

minho sits in jisung’s swivel chair, knees drawn up to his chest, mouth in a pout. a tiny ball of _otherworldly_. it’s cute. he’s looking at jisung only _vaguely_ , gaze somewhere… above his shoulder, more or less. huh.

“where were you? i thought i was the only one for you.”

minho’s gaze drops, he picks it back up, but then it’s all over the place, restless. _huh_.

he coughs, chin raised defiantly, “i never said you were. maybe i need some time to myself, too.”

“don’t you complain every single day about how boring my life is and that you never get out? don’t you? i distinctly remember that,” jisung crosses his arms, striding over. it’s never been necessary with minho, but jisung sure hasn’t forgotten how to push someone’s buttons. “you’re here so much, someone might think you _like_ me.”

minho, predictably, scoffs. “aren’t you thinking too highly of yourself?”

“hmm, am i? i seem to remember,” jisung pretends to think, tilting his head, “you,” tapping a finger to his lip for show, “kissing me last night.”

“ki— i didn’t _kiss_ you, it was—”

minho’s lashes flutter so beautifully, indignant gaze directed at jisung, and yes, yeah, see, got him.

minho is _embarrassed_.

his face barely flushes, but the tips of his ears are _red_ , and that’s how jisung also knows minho is in his _physical_ body now, just because. because he’s with jisung, and jisung likes that a lot.

jisung sits down on his bed and pulls the chair and minho over, facing him.

minho glares a bit, but jisung is having a great day now, so it’s unclear what the issue is.

“are you embarrassed?”

“i do not feel such emotions.”

“i think you’re embarrassed. that’s cute.”

minho shoves jisung’s chest, but jisung only grabs onto minho’s arm, undeterred. nah. this is amazing news, and jisung will milk it for all it’s worth. over time.

“i liked it, it’s fine,” he confesses, gaze steady. hope flutters in his chest, floods his system.

minho’s smile is bashful and breathtaking, quite honestly.

“so,” jisung slides his hand down to minho’s hand to curl his fingers loosely around minho’s, who lets him. “where _do_ you go?”

“the artifact. it’s— well, what i’m bound to, it’s where i sleep.”

“isn’t that far? you said you can’t go too far away from me, i actually felt bad about that, like—”

“it’s not far?” minho blinks at him. “i’m right here.”

jisung thinks. no epiphany comes. “but the lamp— i don’t even know where it is. shit, should i go find it?”

“it’s not… a lamp?”

“it’s not?”

minho looks at him. he looks at minho.

jisung’s been living a lie?

but it made perfect sense— that time last year, the antique shop on jisung and hyunjin’s third shopping round for christmas presents (mostly jewelry), jisung rubbed the damn oil lamp, the kind he’s seen in movies, and then…

“where are you, then?”

minho searches his face for a while, looking for a lie or bad intentions or questioning why he puts up with an idiot of a human, maybe, that’s fair. or not. how should jisung have known what _artifact_ minho came packaged in?

minho smiles, a tiny exasperated thing, reaching out gently. “right here—” he brushes hair from jisung’s face, tucking it behind his ear, touch feather-light down to jisung’s earlobe, finger lingering at the earring there. “take care of me, yeah?”

jisung’s stomach does a funny little flip, warmth quickly flooding his entire body.

the earring.

a beautiful little thing, a black gemstone in the shape of a tear, swaying on its silver hook and minho lets his hand fall onto jisung’s knee.

it had drawn jisung’s eyes to it in a way he couldn’t explain then— a year ago— the earring with the black stone, hyunjin asking for opinions on necklaces or rings, and jisung had meant to buy something for his mother, but— he had to buy it, no matter the price. he’s been wearing it since.

jisung touches it gently with his fingers, tracing its shape, watching the way minho’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, mouth curving beautifully. jisung wants to kiss him.

“that’s you?”

“kind of, i guess. i’m in there.”

a laugh bubbles up jisung’s throat, sudden, bright, “you _are_ always with me!”

“i am,” minho breathes more than he says, gaze on where jisung has taken his hand in his own.

god, jisung wants to kiss him.

fuck it?

why not kiss him?

“minho, if i—” jisung inhales deeply, heartbeat growing louder and faster in his ears, silly hope and affection and _want_ making his fingers tingle, curl tighter around minho’s, “you can refuse wishes, right? if i said one you didn’t want to fulfill, you wouldn’t, right?”

minho’s thumb caresses jisung’s knuckles, his gaze soft and open and anticipating in a way jisung’s never seen. “if i really didn’t want to, i wouldn’t.”

“so if—” there’s not enough air, not enough courage and jisung’s voice stumbles and breaks in a weird way but fuck it, “if i said that i wish you would kiss me—”

minho kisses him.

for a moment, it feels like— floating, on water or in the air, or, whatever, it’s a bit— it’s a lot.

(real.)

then the details rush back into focus, and that’s even more; the softness of minho’s lips, his gentle hold on the back of jisung’s head, the chaste pressure when minho moves his mouth to change the angle and press against jisung’s more firmly, more sure.

minho pulls back too soon and jisung chases after him without shame and minho giggles, breathy and happy and then jisung laughs, too, relief washing over him. minho presses his face into his neck, breathing uneven, “ah, that—”

“was a very clear answer,” jisung laughs, everything feeling kind of warm and gooey and tingling. somehow. in a good way. “i think… shit, you might like me.”

minho pushes himself off of jisung’s chest, none too gently, huffing, “didn’t _you_ stutter to humbly ask _me_ if i—”

“and you didn’t even let me finish asking, ah,” jisung laughs as minho is trying to free his hand, pushing himself and the chair off the bed, “i get it, it’s fine, a lot of people love me! it’s cute of you to—”

somehow, jisung’s grip loosens by itself and minho’s exasperated groan sounds distant and jisung barely processes how minho twists himself sideways to _disappear through the wall_.

jisung stares at his hand and empty chair for a moment before laughter bursts out of him, easy and loud in a way it hasn’t been in— a while, honestly. it’s always come close with minho, though.

“han jisung, don’t make me regret my generosity—” minho’s disembodied voice tries to scold, but he still sounds winded as jisung can’t stop laughing, falling backwards on his bed, “—you’re annoying.”

“i’m your favorite.”

“and i regret it.”

“you don’t.”

jisung dumbly smiles up at the ceiling. can minho see this? is minho smiling dumbly, too?

“come back and we’ll watch netflix the rest of the day?”

with the while that it takes minho to answer, jisung wants to believe that minho is smiling very dumbly, too.

“yeah, okay.”

  


*

  


after that, the last wish (probably? minho counts in weird ways) is obvious. jisung won’t need another.

looking back, what made jisung’s days brighter and easier to bear were not any magic tricks or miracles that happened— from the start, it was changbin and hyunjin, who’ve always had his back, and then it was minho, too, in a similar but also different way. it didn’t matter much, what he was or called himself— it was minho, just his presence.

the natural way they grew close and clicked, spent time in each other’s company, doing whatever or nothing at all; how thoughtful minho was throughout it all, if not a teasing little shit at first; how he made the small things a bit better, a bit easier, by being there and offering his time, the slices of cake and cups of coffee, little signs of his affection much louder than some people’s empty words. all the favors minho’s done him, without expecting a thing in return, just so jisung knew he was there.

it’s easy to forget that minho is different, but maybe it doesn’t even matter.

not when they’re arguing about a dumb movie plot point or another, or minho whines and tickles jisung to play him all of jisung’s old embarrassing songs, or minho complains about jisung’s touchiness but still maintains his physical form, only so jisung can pull and prod and nudge him in the first place.

all the easy breakfasts, and dinners, and convenience store runs, when minho is only there to keep jisung company. jisung’s browser history being full of cat videos that minho watched when jisung was busy with course work and minho was dying of boredom but didn’t want to disturb him. the casual touches, on knees or shoulders or waists or hesitantly brushing hands, heads on laps and fingers in hair.

and after the first kiss, well— more kisses, too. minho will press them to jisung’s nose, or forehead, or temple, too, all feather-light and gentle; and sometimes more firmly, on jisung’s mouth, lips wonderfully red when he pulls back.

jisung feels a lightness like no other, like this. even knowing what he has to do, and what it might mean for him.

but it’s not about him, from here on. jisung thinks it should be about minho, now.

minho should have his wishes fulfilled, too.

  


*

  


jisung asks minho out on a date on christmas. an official one, this time.

he takes minho for a fancy dinner, because as much as minho insists he doesn’t need to eat, jisung has caught on to how minho steals bites of his cheesecake for the taste. it’s kind of romantic, with a candle in the middle of the table, and jisung kind of laughs at himself all dressed up and proper, but minho laughs, too, out of endearment, so that’s okay. minho looks stunning, more stunning than usual in a fitted suit, hair pushed further out of his face. jisung kind of admires minho more than he pays attention to the food, and that’s— something he won’t admit lightly, and not out loud.

or, well, maybe. who knows.

they go to the movies, in their fancy suits, to watch a questionable horror flick to laugh over and it’s easy and right and _real_ when jisung muffles his giggles in minho’s neck, minho’s words more scathing than ever only to make jisung laugh even harder. they get shushed a lot, and it feels— oddly right.

on the way home, they buy more cake, and then jisung watches fondly as minho savors it clad in jisung’s college hoodie and sweatpants, curled into the pillow on jisung’s tiny bed.

there isn’t much there, in jisung’s room, or for jisung to offer, but there’s this. comfort and familiarity.

jisung watches the way minho’s lashes fan over his cheeks, the satisfied hint of a smile on his lips. jisung’s throat constricts. it might go wrong, but— fuck it. he has to try.

“i know my last wish. will you hear me out?”

minho blinks at him, unguarded and comfortable, and jisung’s heart beats a little faster. ah, he wants to kiss him. he does.

minho sends him an unsure smile. “of course?”

jisung inhales deeply, palms sweaty against his thighs.

“i’ve been thinking about what to say, and what to do with this, and— i don’t know if it works, but i—” minho’s intense gaze makes jisung falter a bit, but he pushes on, “i want you to stay, to… be with me, i guess, but— more than that, i want you to be able to do whatever you want, and not be stuck here with me, or— anyone else, after me, for that matter.”

minho’s brows are furrowed, trying to follow along as jisung swallows, nervous and sure at the same time.

“you should be able to live for yourself, and go wherever, and ask for things, too. you’ve done more than enough.”

jisung reaches for minho’s hand and intertwines their fingers gently. “even if it’s not with me, you don’t have to stay with me— even when i’m long gone, i just—”

regardless of anything jisung could ever come up with to ask for himself, this is what he wishes for the most right now, more than anything.

minho’s eyes are fixed on him, wide— heartbreakingly wet.

“i wish for you to be free.”

minho gasps for air when he says it, and the air turns weird, squeezing jisung’s lungs, too, he can’t breathe for a second— that weird, hot tingling shoots through jisung’s body and up to his ear and he hears a _crack_ , something falling to the ground, but jisung doesn’t look away from minho, eyes glazed over, hand slack in jisung’s.

it has to work. it has to have worked. _please_ , have worked.

jisung loses his hold on minho’s hand, minho’s body _flickering_ , fading from view, and then in the next second—

minho’s gone.

jisung can’t breathe for too many seconds, panic sitting low in his gut but he’s too shocked to even panic yet, eyes trained on his bed, where minho was, waiting— it _has_ to have worked, right, because if not, then what—

a warm breeze seems to ruffle the hair at jisung’s nape, and he inhales deeply, minho appearing back in front of him, winded, but— here.

“it worked,” minho’s voice cracks around the syllables, eyes wide, staring at his open palms in disbelief. “it worked, it worked, i was able to— i went to japan and russia and australia, we should go there sometime, australia, i could take us, it worked—”

minho pulls jisung into a bone-crushing hug, breathless and shaking, “i’d forgotten what that was like, i’d— it’s been so long since i—” and his voice breaks all over again, thick with emotion, “thank you, thank you, i can’t ever—” and jisung can’t even return the hug before minho’s pulling back again, thoughts a mile a minute.

he stares at jisung in awe, eyes wide and curious.

“you love me.”

jisung’s— too overwhelmed to figure out what kind of emotion he feels more than any other in existence, right now.

“what?”

“you love me, i can’t believe you— i didn’t think anyone could— but you love me. for me.” minho looks at jisung, dazed, hands cupping jisung’s jaw. his hands shake. “i was— trapped, they trapped me out of spite, they said— no one would ever love me. no one would ever want me for me,” he whispers, breath warm on jisung’s lips, “i forgot it was possible, too.”

“you— someone trapped you?”

“a long, long time ago.”

“so then—”

minho puts a finger to jisung’s lips, hurried, shaking his head, “i have a wish, will you listen?”

“always,” jisung says easily, and means it.

“i wish you wanted me to stay.”

“i do.”

he wants to kiss minho, and hold him, and celebrate whatever the fuck just happened, and lie down to process whatever the fuck just happened, for a day or two, all at the same time.

“i wish we could go on together, for as long as you put up with me.” minho’s gaze is wild and vulnerable and— free. beautiful.

“we can.” jisung wants to learn what else, what more being with minho can be, whatever form that takes.

“i wish to meet your friends, properly, as me,” minho admits, their lips almost touching. “i haven’t had friends in a long time.”

jisung huffs a short laugh, relief only now starting to arrive in his brain, fuck. “yeah, yeah— they’d love and fear you appropriately.”

minho slides a hand up into jisung’s hair and jisung tries to get closer, moving up the bed. minho pulls at him, impatient.

“i wish you’d choose better romcoms to watch, i can’t relate to their silly problems, they’re just being idiots.”

“uhm—” jisung tries to focus on where his limbs are going, “sure, okay—”

“and i wish you wouldn’t let your dirty laundry pile up on the floor, it’s aesthetically offensive.”

“uh— do you maybe want to make a list, or—”

minho lets himself fall on his back, urging jisung to follow, leaning above him. he laughs, breathless and breathtaking and _beautiful_.

“i wish you would kiss me right now.”

“oh. oh, yeah. yeah, i can, i—”

minho pulls jisung down and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

  


*

  


“i _knew_ it was weird you just stopped talking about him!”

“shhh, could you maybe not—”

“you were _obsessed_ and suddenly not a single peep? i figured you would tell us with time, but this—”

“shut the _fuck_ up—”

“babe, hey,” changbin puts a hand on hyunjin’s knee, hyunjin sinking back down in his seat.

jisung coughs into his hand, waiting until the heads turned their way lose interest again.

so, mutual feelings established and evil curse broken and (many) kisses exchanged, jisung and minho decided to take the next logical step.

telling changbin and hyunjin about it.

“you were obsessed with me, huh? is that so?”

jisung sighs, long-suffering (but content), “it looked like you were _stalking_ me, i was afraid for my _life_ you weirdo—”

minho’s wearing a shit-eating grin, not even listening, chin propped up on a palm, lazily circling a finger around the edge of his cup of americano.

“sure, sungie.”

well, at least part of it. as much of the truth as is, well— not _supernatural_. for now, at least.

“wait, just,” changbin’s squinting at them, hand frozen mid-motion, “you think a guy is stalking you, and the guy just says ‘no’ and you go ‘oh okay’ and then you say ‘hey let’s date’? and _you_ ,” changbin’s brows furrow in a weird way, either disbelieving or disapproving, “are the guy jisung thought was stalking him?”

minho raises one of his own beautiful eyebrows, gaze sharp, “and _you’re_ the guy who thought he could beat me up.”

hyunjin smacks both hands down on the table, drawing their (and others’, again) eyes. “we should let the past be the past, yeah? somehow, that’s a brand of weird that suits jisung just well.”

“hey—”

“excuse me—”

a waitress interrupts them before the bickering can continue, high ponytail and sweet smile, eyeing jisung. she has a plate in her hands.

“you are the 8th customer wearing a red hoodie today, so we want to offer you a slice of cheesecake, on the house.”

she gives a perfect smile, perfectly serious, and jisung gapes at her for a second or two before he catches on. “oh— oh, thank you!”

“please enjoy it.” she puts the cake down in front of him and bows a little before hurrying off without a glance back.

changbin and hyunjin eye her in rightful confusion and mild envy.

“huh, out of nowhere?”

“that’s a pretty random system they have.”

minho’s arm sneaks around jisung’s back, grabbing his waist. jisung tries to suppress his laughter as he throws minho a questioning glance.

“oh, someone above must’ve heard your wish for another slice,” minho winks at him, arm pulling jisung the slightest bit closer.

jisung can’t hold his smile down, feeling light and _happy_ , leaning into minho’s side on instinct.

“well, _someone_ did.”

  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> if the pacing and flow feel wonky.... and some things could've been elaborated on more..... i know...... i know. "i ran out of time" is an understatement, but i tried to at least wrap things up coherently.....
> 
> some thoughts:
> 
> \- jisung does call his mom, eventually, on new year's. he visits his parents again for chuseok. i didn't want to open that depressing can of worms as the fic is more light-hearted, but yeah. they'll be fine  
> \- minho is actually more insecure and damaged by serving humans and then being tossed aside than he lets on :D. the 3-wishes-only thing, and only if it's something the person really desires, are more for minho's own sake than anything-- there were no rules, way back, and he did terrible things, too, for way too long. one time, when he didn't do as asked, he was thrown in a lake and he laid there until someone eventually found him. he doesn't really sleep so much as he Rests, somewhat conscious. and that took a while. so he's a bit scared of what humans might do to his artifact. trusting jisung with the gemstone is a Major Thing to him. there was this whole angsty path that i swerved away from, but yeah  
> \- i figure he was just this very powerful beloved magical being minding his own business once, before others enslaved him and tossed him to the humans out of jealousy. there aren't really any major limits on his powers when he's free  
> \- so yeah he's not really a genie, i couldn't find a better equivalent (korean) term. but then i guess he's not even necessarily Korean originally, he was never a human. it's just where he lives. i guess he isn't even necessarily originally male, again, not a human. but it's how he lives these days. maybe i shouldn't take fantasy so seriously  
> \- there's a message in there somewhere about not needing magic to have your wishes fulfilled-- if you are honest and admit to things, sometimes, just Saying It is the wish. only if you say it people can know, and someone may grant it. none of minho's actions towards jisung are really of the magical kind, he is just... there. that was deliberate  
> \- OH yeah my guys... english is NOT my native language.... if u see something weird there.... maybe that's why....
> 
> i would've liked to spend more time on the Adventures Of Living With Minho because my notes for this fic started with and revolved around:  
> \- voyeurism but it’s ok he’s a genie  
> \- awkward invisibility moments  
> \- funny invisibility moments (for minho)  
> \- disappearing through walls as deflecting method  
> \- does minho ever use actual magic or does he only show off? yes
> 
> i will just imagine a sitcom like this and laugh to myself. thank u for ur attention
> 
> come be my stay friend over on [twt](http://www.twitter.com/_sunborn) if u want,,, i'm new to this lifestyle


End file.
